This Poem was Submitted By: James C. Horak On Date: 2008-03-28 12:46:06 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Grasping Cacoon

A silk cord tying love     tying it to possession Close ones left asunder    for aught but new direction. Of your choice, to grow    to grow to places they           cannot come. 

Copyright © March 2008 James C. Horak

Additional Notes:
How precious might you imagine it to be to the once confined, to hear the words spoken, "I will not just love you as your are, I will love you when you are more."?

This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2008-04-06 16:56:12
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
James, How about, I will love you even if you are less? Love unconditionally encompasses every end of the spectrum. And always one will leave the other eventually. We will be alone! But still we may love! Dellena

This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2008-04-03 19:51:19
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
This has great potential if it weren’t so oblique or ambiguous... the conclusion for this is your title word “Cacoon” and then your subsequent line “silk cord tying” then back to “left asunder”. Now “silk cord” would lead us to believe that you’ve misspelled “cacoon = One of the seeds or large beans of a tropical vine for making purses, scent bottles” for want of “cocoon = the silky envelope spun by the larvae of many insects, as silkworms,” however then you come in with “left asunder” as if now we are not clear if “close ones” whoever they are; are tied by silk or buried or both which the title word can not support both; before moving on to “for aught but new direction” which in essence is saying nothing at this point. Ok, I’ll get passed that and onto your last stanza where I wonder why you haven’t followed through with rhyme...and again the question, who is “your” and speaking of places “they” can not come...who is “they” leaving us with ambiguous statements. Also, cannot should be separated unless you were planning on using the contraction.. Lovely words strung together pleasantly with empty meaning... Best, Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2008-03-31 12:30:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
The Grasping Cacoon (Is that anything like a cocoon?) A silk cord tying love tying it to possession Close ones left asunder for aught but new direction. {quaint, archaic and yet utterly meaningless) Of your choice, to grow to grow to places they cannot come. And who might "they" be? The close ones?)Do you mean cannot "go?" Do rhymes frighten you? Do I? Best Rachel
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terry A On Date: 2008-03-30 02:31:07
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.80000
For many people the word 'love' is a synonym for caring for the well-being of others. Or not a word, but a feeling that isn't easily put into words. And that romantic love is a little like a flu that people recover from, some more gracefully than others. Or the poem speaks of a parent's love for a child - that feeling is sometimes this perennial. Or the note speaks...more of a god's love. For who else but a god could anticipate so perfectly how an individual might change? When I think of love I always think it has something to do with geometry. Someday I'll find out why this thought occurs to me. Some say love enables all things noble, all sacrifice, all giving. But this is that synonym stuff again. Or that true love is impersonal, but that's like saying poems are impersonal. "A silk cord tying love to possession"...sometimes it seems more like tying love to gravity, most seem to have heavier feet then they want. Possession and obsession are like an abscessed tooth in the subconscious, hardly the whole of it, but difficult on the system. It's late, I'm rambling around thoughts; and you have presented such a wonderful poem, I should not. Perhaps change often has a little bit of nostalgia and a little bit of regret in it. Sometimes it's the spur of life force, where to not grow is death. That's the pivotal point that people can come to...once passed, it's either growth or diminishment. Idle comfort is really no comfort...I can see on people's faces what it costs them to act like it is. Perhaps it's similar to planets that come to crossroads. A good poem always makes a person think and feel. This one did. Terry
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